Rants & Raves

On my wall hangs a signed copy of Dr. Maya Angelou’s poem Our Grandmothers. I bid on the 8×11” piece of paper at an auction at Boston’s Institute for Contemporary Art in 1993 when it was housed in an old fire station on Boylston Street. The ICA was raising funds for AIDS relief and research. I was a grad student living off loans and hardly in the position to bid on art. But the Angelou poem on linen resume paper got my attention. A voice inside me said, “Hold up your auction number already!” Meekly, raised my paddle. To my surprise I kept poking up my hand. Do I hear $10? Do I hear $15? In the end I paid $100 (and twice that for the frame).

She gathered her babies,

Their tears slick as oil on black faces,

Their young eyes canvassing mornings of madness.

Momma, is Master going to sell you

from us tomorrow?

The poem is placed above my framed doctorate degree. After 25 years both documents are faded and musty. Whatever they are worth today, emotional or otherwise, they remain symbolic. Maybe more so today as a daughter of an immigrant mother from post WWII West Germany. I am a first generation college graduate. My husband and I are now launching our girls into the world. Not without some reservation, I might add. They are young women living in rather strange times in the very land of opportunity to which my mother fled and my husband’s French Canadian ancestors settled to farm or work in textile mills. I find myself apologizing for the burdens their generation will bear in spite of amazing progress. It seems we are taking some steps back. But what’s a mother to do?

So I turn to wise elders. Every once in a while I stand before Our Grandmothers with my chin angled and eyes squinting. Angelou’s poem is strangely beautiful, fierce, heartbreaking yet hopeful. (You can read it in full.) The poem was inspired by an old spiritual turned into a protest song. I look up at Angelou’s words with a kind of reverence and also a basic incomprehension of the plight of slavery, of black women, and how history can’t help but repeat itself. Many images arise. The German holocaust. The Rwandan genocide. Syrian refugees. How dare I, however, relate to a poem about black women and generations of oppression. I will never pretend to know. Yet, a mother am I. Empathy, after all, enables us to imagine ourselves into the lives of others.

Yearning to Breath Free by Barry Blitt (c) The New Yorker July 2, 2018

As I watched the news about the children being separated from parents at the borderland, I am drawn to her poem again. In the haze of the summer heat, Angelou’s words mesmerize. Several stanzas scream out.

No angel stretched protecting wings

above the heads of her children,

fluttering and urging the winds of reason

into the confusions of their lives.

The sprouted like young weeds,

but she could not shield their growth

from the grinding blades of ignorance, nor

shape them into symbolic topiaries.

She sent them away,

underground, overland, in coaches and shoeless.

There was another line of text that moved me recently in a news story on the 4th of July: “Therese Patricia Okoumou, of Staten Island, was arrested after scaling the base of the statue and taking up temporary residence on Lady Liberty’s right foot.”

I clicked the news feed for more. Sure enough. Upon the grand topiary of New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty, was a small human figure seated at the folds of her green copper cloak.

I shall not be moved.

Captivated, I watched the footage. Who was this person? Here was someone who embodied the spirit of many people today, like me, resisting the irrational policies of our nation but with much more nerve. That she would not be moved was a thrilling example of compassion in action.

Just days before, like many others, I had joined in yet another protest march, #FamiliesBelongTogether. Volunteers were handing out bottles of water. Local leaders gave speeches. Chants of “This is what democracy looks like!” could be heard in waves. I held my worn out sign from previous marches. I poked my arm up and down like an auction paddle. Be Kind, Be Brave. Dripping in sweat I lamented, Will this march make a damn difference? In the center of my poster board is image of a black girl under the title Women are Perfect. It was created by muralist Jessica Sabogal in partnership with Amplifier.org for the Women’s March in 2017. My husband had made easy-to-carry sign for me then. It seems to have multiple lives.

Will this march make a difference? The lament circled in my mind. Maybe it was the heat. It’s exhausting to bear witness to the creepy erosion of basic liberties, the seeds of fascism finding root. Moving along the crowds I found myself behind a young man waving his poster, History Teachers Against Repeating History. Another sign appeared in the far distance: And then the children.

and I shall not, I shall not be moved.

I hopped on a concrete wall looking at the crowds. Impressed yet not quite hopeful. Then a mother with her daughter asked to take a photo of my sign. “Do you know the child in your poster is Maya? That’s her name and she’s seven years old. She’s a friend of ours. Her name is Maya.” The mother was insistent. “Her name is Maya. Maya.” Thank you for telling me.

Women Are Perfect (c) 2017 Jessica Sabogal

Back home I looked up at Our Grandmothers and wondered if the child depicted in Sabogal’s protest poster was named after the poet. The mother at the march really wanted me to know the girl had a name. It matters. At a poetry reading given by late Dr. Angelou she implored us to love our ancestors for they named us and loved us before we were even born.

Children behind wired fences have names, too.

Like the woman at the foot of Lady Liberty. Therese Patricia Okoumou. She was asking us to care. She was showing us that when people go low, we can go high. Our grandmothers demand this of us.

The Divine upon my right

impels me to pull forever

at the latch of Freedom’s gate.

The Holy Spirit upon my left leads my

feet without ceasing into the camp of the

righteous and into the tents of the free.

I reconsidered my doubts. Every human has a name. Every step makes a difference. Every chant breaks the silence. Raising your hand up in protest matters. It’s what Dr. Maya Angelou called the nobleness of the human spirit. It’s what democracy looks like.

I joke when I say I belong to the church of Mr. Fred Rogers. People close me know how much I admire the late great TV host and often send me quotes, vids or articles about him. So when my husband and I went to the local community theatre to see the new documentary Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, it was as much about being a flock member of his media ministry as it was much needed relief from the recent weeks in our country. Images of children separated from their families and behind wired fences is nothing short of a battle cry for compassion, care and reason. Of course, children the world over are suffering in unconscionable ways. Somehow it hurts more when it’s closer to home and under our country’s watch.

We need you Mr. Rogers.

I was three years old when the first season of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood aired. I was five when I got a FAO Schwarz stuffed animal for Christmas, a spotted leopard named Rango. To me he was a kindred spirit to puppet Daniel Striped Tiger and he soaked up buckets of snot and tears. Decades later Rango was adopted by my youngest daughter, although not with the same passion I once held as a lifeline. Even one glance at the now floppy cub, who is relegated to a bookshelf, infuses me with a love so big that I grin with gratitude every time.

Fabulous reviews about this Rogers documentary abound and you will simply have to see it for yourself. It is a salve for our times. The subtitle is “A little kindness makes a world of difference.” We all know that’s true. It’s just harder to implement on a moment-to-moment basis as seems warranted now.

When I say it’s you I like, I’m talking about that part of you that knows that life is far more than anything you can ever see or hear or touch. That deep part of you that allows you to stand for those things without which humankind cannot survive. Love that conquers hate, peace that rises triumphant over war, and justice that proves more powerful than greed. – Fred Rogers

Mr. Rogers didn’t creep me out like some say. I was the perfect age for his pace of teaching and doctrine of love. I needed calm and consistency in order to deal with big questions I could only feel rather than understand when my family was breaking apart. We might all benefit from slowing down enough to listen to our own hearts and hear our own breath.

Fred Rogers’ kindness was fierce and compelling, soft and hard, timeless and true. He respected children: their vulnerability, imagination, and curiosity. He believed that what mattered — an enduring empathy and respect for the human condition — in all its variations, was also “invisible to the eye.” This is the subtle caring that inhabits the spaces between and within each other. I imagine this belief was also a nod to the 1943 children’s book, The Little Prince, that also impressed me so:

And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. – Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Mr. Rogers showed us that there is good in this world and we can be part of it: Love Thy Neighbor. Love Thy Self. His numerology was: 1-4-3.

I L-O-V-E Y-O-U.

This is heart work. We need his legacy and light to speak loud and clear. It’s up to us.

“Do you know that there have been 239 school shootings since Sandy Hook?”

“Mom.” My younger daughter’s voice cracked, “One of the boys got his acceptance letter into a college the day before.”

She stood in the shadow of a door in the one corner where she could charge her smartphone while scrolling the deluge of messages and postings from teens all over the country about Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Florida. She will graduate in a few months.

We stared at each other. It’s hard to come up with words in such a moment. Sometimes there aren’t any. Her long hair was loose and wavy from a run in the rain. In the dim light she looked like one of those ephemeral paintings by J.W. Waterhouse. A mythological maiden. An image of worry and wonder. Fragile yet fierce.

She stomped off to study for a calc quiz in a flurry of anger—and I imagine also a wave of guilt and gratitude that she can even be angry about homework when 17 kids can’t. I’m with her. Those precious lives cut short. I think of the grieving father who couldn’t remember if he told his daughter “I love you” when he dropped her off at school that day.

No words.

I silently asked myself: What is the next best thing I can do right now? It seems that the grown ups are failing their children. Yet I sense a vibe. These kids won’t stand for it. This generation is going to do something about it. Two decades of a public health crisis in schools and they will use their common sense, pure and simple. They could care less about lobbyists and special interests. They care about each other.

But at 10 o’clock at night there is only so much a mom can do. There is an Eastern compassion practice called tonglen, which is a giving and receiving reflection to use in difficult times. As Rabbi Rami Shapiro writes in The Sacred Art of Loving Kindness, “It is a way to take upon oneself the pain of the world and transform it into love.” That’s what I choose to do in the moment.

Sit quietly and comfortably, perhaps with a hand on your heart. Breathe in and out in a comfortable way. As you breathe, bring to mind a sense of warmth, comfort, and ease, or whatever you need in the moment. Inhale this soothing feeling.

Bring to mind a person who is struggling and needs compassion. After you inhale a comforting breath for yourself, on the exhale offer the other person feelings of kindness, caring, comfort, and ease.

Then return to yourself, breathing in warm sensations. Switchback to the person you are visualizing. In an even flow of in- and out- breaths, receive and give warmth and kindness. Like a see-saw. Back and forth, back and forth. One breath in for me, one breath out for you.

It’s an uneven see-saw. All those kids. Parents. Friends.

Some say prayers are not enough. This feels true. But where would we be without them?

A sacred pause. A deep breath. One for me, for you. An infusion of air inviting a sliver of hope. Maybe even a dose of faith. When we start from a place of loving awareness a smidge of space opens up. It’s here where we can discern the next best thing to do. It can reveal a path to compassionate action.

As we come upon the anniversary of the game changing Women’s March, I am in awe of what transpired over the last year. The most curious thing of all is what I found so despicable about our elected leader of the free world was, in fact, a very odd blessing. Light was cast on the dark shadows lurking around for so long. Not all my friends might agree with me or hold similar views, but it’s quite hard to ignore what happened over the year. #MeToo, #TimesUp, and Oprah’s amazing speech at the Golden Globes.

The times they are a-changin’.

One year ago my husband and I marched in Boston. It was nothing short of transformative. First, that my man went with me (he got into designing posters and he even gave one away to a mother and her kid on the subway so she’d have something). Second, that we became part of a peaceful tribe 175,000 strong, forming a “radical kinship” as Father Greg Boyle likes to say. Third, that we took tons of selfies together and sent them to our daughters—not only so they can confirm how their “awkward” parents are, but to see their core values in action (and what a good guy is all about).

I still have our posters in the family room and will dust them off this weekend. I didn’t get my hand-knitted pussy hat in time for last year’s march, but that hat has not seen the dust. I still wear it—and I will as long as it’s cold outside and this president is in office.

It’s not a time to be complacent. It’s a time to address the dark side with a legion of light workers. It’s not a comfortable time and nor should it be. We need to feel irritated enough to take action. The other day I was clearing my office and out of a book fell a prayer card my mother had given one of my girls: Joan of Ark. How apt! The Novena begins: “Glorious St. Joan of Arc, filled with compassion for those who invoke you, with love for those who suffer, heavily laden with the weight of my troubles I kneel at your feet and humbly beg you to take my present need under your special protection.” The image on the front is of the armoured French girl of the 1400s, a spiritual warrior across the ages, holding her flag and sounding the call for compassion, social justice and new leadership. I believe Joan of Arc is at our sides protecting us and emboldening us right now, but mostly we have each other. Saints, angels, whistle blowers, courageous women and men… and those contrarian naysayers, too. We all belong. And we all need to evolve humanity. We can do better.

Be a kindness warrior.

My protest sign last year was on kindness. It’s been my calling and so I’ve been studying it, collecting science and story. The basis for my upcoming book has been the view that kindness is strong, not weak. It is courageous, not cowardly. It is heartful, not heartless. It’s not about being nice, agreeable, or virtuous. It’s about understanding, having boundaries, and taking reasonable action. It’s moving from empathic distress to motivational empathy. Taking a kind stance doesn’t mean giving in. One of the protest slogans seen all over the world last year was: “Feel the Rage, Be the Love.” These six small words perfectly capture both the challenge and the solution when facing difficult persons, places, or things. The meditation teacher Sharon Salzberg asks, “Why can’t we both love and resist at the same time?” This is a perfect question for our life and our times, and it forms the basis for reimagining kindness.

We all have something to stand for. For me it’s giving kindness the gravitas it deserves in the landscape of humanity. After all, we can’t survive without it. I invite you to join me. How are you going to rock your world with kindness?

Sometimes it seems that life is indeed stranger than fiction. This is how I feel about the 58th presidential election. With that said, I am make making an appeal to you.

Vote for democracy. Vote for Hillary.

First, let me tell you a story. When my daughter Sophie was three years old she chose to be Buzz Lightyear for Halloween. I was so delighted that at least for one season we avoided the princess theme. She was so cute standing there with her wings, shouting “To infinity and beyond.”

From then on the characters of Toy Story had a very large presence in our household. We had the Woody and Jessie dolls, of course. And, yes, like Andy’s mom, we eventually donated those toys in a box to the local church. When Toy Story 3 came out in 2010 my daughters were almost too old see it with their friends. Instead, we went as a family and snuck in the back row of the amphitheatre above all the littler kids. Toy Story 3 is by far the creepiest of the trilogy, which took me totally by surprise.

Here’s the quick synopsis. It’s where Woody, Buzz, Jessie and the rest of the cheerful toy gang are destined for an uncertain future as Andy, their human owner, goes off to college. Instead, the toys find their fate in the Sunnyside Daycare Center, where a mad doll, Big Baby, and a sociopathic bear, Lotso (Lots O Huggin’ Bear), run a prisoner-of-war like operation.

It’s the typical hero’s journey formula. The good toys ban together in an underground resistance, attempting to free all the other toys from the dictatorship. But there is a disturbing scene that could give nightmares to any three to five year old who goes to bed with their beloved stuffed animals. It’s where Woody and his pals find themselves close to the end of their lives, trapped in a garbage truck, and scooped into a trash incinerator. Woody, realizing that the end is in sight, holds his friend’s hands in a gesture of love and solidarity.

As they are about to be consumed by flames, I’m clutching the arms of the seat. I blurt out “Ohmygod. It’s the holocaust!” My Sophie turned to me and said, “Jeez, Mom! Calm down.”

When we walked out of the theater my family ribbed me for being overly sensitive. I have a reason. My mother came over from West Germany after World War II to make a better life for herself. She was not a victim of the holocaust, but she suffered the ravages of war as a small child, hiding in bomb shelters and living in poverty. The cloak of her cultural history enveloped all of us growing up. Learning about Nazi Germany was a gradual unfolding for me, at times quite distressing, and too horrible to comprehend. Ok, so maybe I am sensitive.

Life is Stranger than Fiction

And here I am – a half a century later no less, watching a new cultural scene unfold before my eyes, where it’s entirely possible that the next leader of the United States of America espouses ideology so dangerous, so incendiary, that we are at risk of eventually losing our basic freedoms and human rights. I’m not being dramatic. There are historical precedents in history of other countries’ slow walk toward fascism. A Trump presidency could open the floodgates, or the door for the next leader in line, perhaps someone brighter, more polished, better contained, and highly calculating. That individual could even be someone qualified, with a history of public-service, with a facility for diplomacy, and a basic understanding of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. But this future person is also power hungry, racist, misogynist, exclusionary, paranoid, and harbors an extremist mentality that serves not the many but the few. It is possible.

It doesn’t take a psychologist like myself to discern that Donald Trump has a severe narcissistic personality disorder, with seriously underdeveloped social and emotional intelligence, and an inability to self-regulate or take perspective. But he certainly has a skill: persuasion. And he appeals close to 40- 45% of the US population. Some of my friends are in that cohort. My friends are kind, intelligent, and want the best for their families and their communities. They strive for safety, success, and happiness. And yet it is very difficult for me to understand how the people I admire and love could support such an unstable and dangerous candidate. For the most part, I’ve concluded that they are making the anti-Hillary vote. I can understand that as well. People either hate the Clintons or they hate what they think of as the elite politician and “the establishment.” Many of my friends wanted Bernie Sanders. I listened to Bernie recently and he tells his supporters to go look at the facts and issues (yes, I know it’s hard to find unbiased assessments), and stay out of the myopic personality contest that has hijacked the media and the debates. It seems like wise advice but I don’t think many people are in a state of mind to step back and deeply look at the important issues facing the American public and our children’s futures, not to mention the future of our planet and all of its inhabitants. (Are you aware that a third of the Great Barrier Reef disappeared this year? Or, that we have the greatest humanitarian crisis of our generation happening in Syria?)

Love Your Neighbors

Second, as some of you know, I’m working on a project on kindness. This means that I’m taking a hard look at empathy and listening to lots of people’s stories. It’s been heartening and also eye-opening. There are cultural trends tracked by various surveys. Some show that narcissism is on the rise while levels of empathy are on the decline. It makes sense that those go hand-in-hand, as one goes up the other goes down.

One measure of empathy used in social science research (by Professor Mark Davis) is called the Interpersonal Reactivity Scale, a rather apt title for our times. We should all take it. Four components of empathy are identified. Two relate to cognitive empathy and two relate to emotional empathy. The questions are stated in positive and negative directions, on how well (or not) the item describes you on a five point scale. Here’s a worthwhile glance at all four categories to give you the flavor.

Cognitive Empathy

Perspective taking is about the ability to adopt the perspectives of other people and see things from their point of view while suspending your own feelings or opinions (that involves inhibitory control, too). Examples or questions include:

I’m sure I’m right about something so I don’t waste much time listening to other people’s arguments. (-)

I believe that there are two sides to every question and I try to look at them both. (+)

Another component is fantasy which is a kind of “imagination empathy” where you can identify with emotions and experiences of people or characters in movies, novels, and stories. (Just as I can identify with the plight of Toy Story’s characters.) This is the ability to mentally place yourself in another’s shoes. Stories are excellent ways to cultivate empathy. (Listening to real stories on The Moth radio hour is one good way to do this.)

I really get involved with the feelings of the characters in a novel when I watch a good movie. (+)

Becoming extremely involved in a good book or movie is somewhat rare for me. (-)

Emotional Empathy

Empathic concern is about being able to arouse feelings of warmth, tenderness, and concern for others. Relating to the suffering of another person and wanting help is called compassion. We have the cellular blueprint for empathy, kindness and compassion otherwise the human race would not have survived.

Other people’s misfortunes do not usually disturb me a great deal. (-)

I am often quite touched by the things that I see happen. (+)

On the other hand, we can also naturally experience personal distress or the feelings of anxiety and discomfort that can happen from watching another person’s negative experience like a person in pain for instance (Consider the plight of Syrian refugees when you hear them tell their story, being homeless on the street begging, or when you kid is writhing in pain after breaking a leg. DIfferent situation trigger different responses.)

Sometimes I feel helpless when I’m in the middle of a very emotional situation. (+)

When I see someone get,hurt, I remain calm. (-)

Obviously, empathy is an extremely important inner quality and it’s something that develops over time through supportive and loving relationships and experiences in life. It’s also something that can be cultivated. That’s the hopeful message. We can actually train the neural networks that stream through our brains – through various practices that include:

mindfulness

loving kindness meditation and reflection

gratitude

forgiveness

cultivating positive emotions

getting to know people who aren’t like you

considering other points of view

collaboration

prioritizing health and wellness

Love Trumps Fear

Third, it is very difficult to tap our empathic roots when our brains are hijacked by fear. I believe that many Americans are in a constant state of fear and feel threatened, whether that is real or imagined. And that’s why Donald Trump is so good at persuading people that we live in an unsafe and dangerous world. He’s triggering the limbic brains of many people, poking at their emotional hot seat.

What happens in such a state of mind? When the mind perceives a threat, the brain’s amygdala (our alarm bell) goes off. When that alarm system is constantly on, it’s very hard to access the other parts of the brain that can regain some control (the prefrontal cortex or the executive functions). For instance, when this “inner coach” is accessed, you are able to calm down, take perspective, and regulate difficult or uncomfortable emotions. Think about a child in a temper tantrum. The only thing that can help that screaming child is to coach him on how to calm down until he learns to do this on his own. Over time the child gets better and better at managing emotions and can “reset.” Of course, we all get stuck in fear based responses no matter what age. Life is hard. But the basics still apply.

Get Some Headspace, Open Your Heart

So friends, those of you who are on the fence, maybe it’s time to just sit still for a little bit and really take some time to think through what your vote might really mean for you and the American people. In finding a quiet space and lowering the mind chatter to step back from fear-based thoughts, there may be an opening to consider what is at stake. This is not an election of Republicans versus Democrats, this is a vote about an extreme and reckless ideology that can turn back hard-earned progress (women’s rights, civil rights, and human rights to name the biggies).

The outgoing president, whether you liked him or not, once said that our nation suffers from an empathy deficit. He’s not making that up. We are suffering from an empathy deficit, as surveys show, and it’s largely because we are locked in our limbic brains, in self preservation mode, and with a very narrow focus (me vs. them). Let’s step back and calm ourselves down and think rationally and reasonably about the greater good (me and we).

We all want what is best for ourselves and our loved ones. Yet, we also have to stretch ourselves and consider the existence and needs of others who may not be like us. We are a nation of immigrants. I am the daughter of one – the daughter of a once 19-year old German girl who courageously came from a country that had extremist ideology with tragic consequences on an unfathomable scale. That doesn’t mean that my mom or myself was a Nazi. Just as Muslim families who immigrated here are not extreme terrorists. Or that we have to build a wall to keep people out. Let’s get some bearings here.

Oh, and remember when a certain wall was knocked down? And a good thing, too.

(c) GDR Museum

Empowered Parenting & Leadership

If anything this election has questioned what it means to be a leader and how we lead in our daily lives. Parenting is a good place to start. People are influenced by the kind of parenting they had. There’s solid research that shows the healthiest parental-child relationships arise when the parenting style is authoritative (in contrast to permissive or authoritarian). This authoritative style includes: love and concern, consistency, clear expectations, respect, support for healthy striving, room for failure and new learning, and creating atmospheres where social, emotional and cognitive flexibility can grow. In contrast, authoritarian/overly strict or laissez-faire/permissive parenting results in major problems, interferes with the development of healthy attachment, and negatively impacts self-confidence, focus and attention, empathy, overall well-being, and life success. An authoritative style fosters social and emotionally intelligent children who can one day grow into kind, effective and inspirational people.

An emotionally and socially intelligent style is good for leadership, too. Being benevolently authoritative involves being kind, consistent, showing concern for others and mutual respect. It involves being courageous, confident, calm and cultivating an environment of safety, while at the same time setting limits, clear expectations, and accountability. This kind of leadership allows for growth, diversity, compassion, collaboration, creativity and innovation. People are craving this. Social and emotional intelligence is the hottest topic in corporate leadership and workplace education these days, not to mention schools. Somehow we need to infuse our political system with it. But we’ve got a bad seed running for the highest office. That he got this far is a travesty and a global embarrassment.

I’m exhausted from this presidential campaign to be honest. I can’t even be nice right now, my limbic brain is buzzing with fear for the future. Here’s the question:

You may not like Hillary, but do you really want an asshole leading this nation?

It’s hard to fathom that this will be the ninth election in which I will be voting. To me it is the most important election to date and it’s not about party lines. It’s the first presidential election in which my daughter, my little Buzz Lightyear, can vote. It’s an important milestone for her, and it is for all of us. What an election to start off with.

When we think about our families, our neighborhoods, and the community of the entire United States of America and beyond, the question of empathy matters and that question of leadership matters. We are all not that separate from one another. In fact, we are not separate at all. I beseech you to find a calm still place in your hearts and minds. Last thing we need is to be scooped up into an incinerator of ideology.

*

More to explore

This says it all:

So much of our reactions and behaviors are unconscious. The Hidden Brain podcast gets it.

Any person or parent who as succumbed to the intoxicating delight of Pixar Animation Studio’s movies over the last decade must see Inside Out, this summer’s blockbuster. It’s fodder for ongoing conversations about kids, parenting, the brain, and our emotional lives.

Of the five inner voices swarming around in 11 year old Riley’s head — Joy, Sadness, Anger, Disgust and Fear — I just loved the red little guy! So much so, I saw Inside Out twice: Once with my BodiMojo co-workers (full review here) and once with my family.

The first time I was so attentive to the story line that I had to see it again to focus on the science of it. I realized because I was a temper tantrum kid that I wanted to see more of Anger, voiced by comedian Louis Black. Anger is a difficult emotion that can be appropriate at times (like when the main character, Riley, finds out she has to move away from the comfort of home and her BFFs). It’s also an important emotion in understanding the ups and downs of emotional life, stress, and what’s happening inside the brain. Drs. Dan Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson, co-authors of my favorite parenting book, The Whole Brain Child, have a simple representation of the brain that I love. It’s much simpler that the brain depicted in the movie! Dr. Siegel uses his hand as a model of the brain, which he divides in to the “upstairs brain” and the “downstairs brain.” Imagine your hand in a fist. The downstairs brain (the palm) is reactive and controls things like breathing and sleeping; it can get triggered and activate the fight, flight, freeze or faint response when angry or afraid.

The upstairs brain (the curled fingers in Dr. Siegel’s hand model) is the logical, rational brain that can make plans, problem solve, and instill reason and calm. That’s the PFC, the prefrontal cortex. It balances out the downstairs brain. In between is the baby gate, i.e., the thumb tucked inside the fist, which represents the amygdala, the tiny structure in the brain that is on constant alert for danger and helps to process emotion. When a kid “flips her lid” (hand is now wide open) it means the baby gate is locked and the passage between the upstairs and downstairs brain is disconnected. In Inside Out, the Sadness and Joy were locked out while the brain’s command central was going bonkers. That’s when Anger and the other sidekicks, Disgust and Fear, went into panic mode. (“There’s nothing working! Why isn’t it working?”) This triggered the stress reaction and motivated Riley into action, or a “flight” response. This is what Dr. Siegel might call an upstairs tantrum: she made a conscious decision to grab her mom’s credit card number, buy a bus ticket, and then run away.

Dr. Siegel’s Tedx Talk and his Handy Model of the Brain

I wanted to see a downstair tantrum in part because I use this language with some of my younger adolescent clients prone to emotional regulation challenges. Where was the downstairs fist-pounding, wailing meltdown? Plus, every kid loses it from time to time. I’ve found my daughter wailing inside her closet, too, with utter recognition of the experience. To see Riley do so would have been excruciatingly entertaining to be sure. Who couldn’t relate? It would also be instructive for viewers and half the screaming little kids in the theater with me.

How does one calm down when so upset?

A rational conversation by mom or dad would not work well in the moment. After all, who can hear anything when one is in a meltdown? After the emotional release dies down, connecting with an understanding mom and dad certainly could. That might include naming the emotions and engaging in calming skills (breathing, a hug, and mindfulness) until the “baby gate” opens up to the upstairs brain. That’s when new learning (or integration) can take place. As Dr. Siegel says, kids need to know that their feelings are both “mentionable and manageable.”

All told, Anger, made me laugh in recognition. My 15 year old daughter, the consummate animation flick fan, quipped, “I can’t wait for Inside Out 2!” That’s when we hope the “puberty button” gets pushed! Let’s see what adventures Riley’s internal voices embark on in her morphing brain once she’s a teenager. And that’s when I imagine Disgust will reveal her true sassy self. (Dr. Siegel’s recent book Brainstorm: The Power and The Purpose of the Teenage Brain, is another excellent read.)

I recently saw Dr. Siegel demonstrate the hand model of the brain at a Mindfulness & Education Conference. On that day his sidekick was hip hop artist JustMe, who composed a song for kids, “Don’t Flip Yo’ Lid.” It was amusing to watch teachers and therapist jamming. Whatever it takes!

“The woods is a dangerous place,” croons Prince Charming to the Baker’s Wife. Indeed, with the recent film release of Into the Woods, I can’t help but dwell on the timeless metaphor of a journey through the forest as approximating ordeals and temptations in the lives of intrepid teenagers.

My husband and I are raising our teenage daughters in a small New England town. We live at the foot of 7,000 acres of wooded reservation land with a chain of 22 hills of hiking trails. Here, “The Woods” is code for a teen hangout not far from the elementary school my girls attended. The spot has been around so long that many parents raised here reminisce about it, often over drinks.

Going into the woods is a coming-of-age right of passage for local teenagers. The “woods” could easily be replaced with any number of terms depending on where you live: the docks, speedway, quarry, fields or lake. To venture off into dark places away from the eyes of authority is like a spell cast over every 13-year-old born unto us. They are marking territory.

Many grown-ups hold memories of intrepid forays into the dark. When we look back, some of us (myself included) wonder how in the world did we ever survive.

Where I grew up in western Connecticut, we drove across to New York State line, where the drinking age remained at 18 and seat belt laws were yet to be passed. If we didn’t drive, we’d hop a ride. It was the upper classmen or friends with older brothers or sisters who used fake IDs to buy kegs of beer while other kids would bring firewood and flashlights to the end of a dirt road. We’d build a bonfire and stand round it in our fisherman sweaters and scarves all staring at the sparkles in the flames. I vividly remember one ride in the back of a station wagon reciting Hail Marys all the way home.

My mother had no clue where I was. My father had been long gone and likely would’ve cared less. But now I am a mother and I have two teenage girls. I know where my girls are most of the time and a network of parents seem to keep their eyes open and cell phones in hand. On the whole, parents do seem to hover more.

Even so, it came a shock to me one night driving home with another mother from a local event. I had received a text from my 16-year-old daughter explaining to me that she had decided to go to her boyfriend’s house. Her friends were going to The Woods, which were off limits to her. She proposed that the “better choice” was to hang out with her relatively new boyfriend at his house. Of course, this didn’t sit too well, as I did not yet have a good read on the boy or his family.

But at least I knew where my daughter was.

In the same moment, my friend was texting her daughter about a pick up time at The Woods. Buckling up, I asked: “What do you mean ‘pick her up from the woods?'” She explained that she had dropped her daughter off at The Woods before we had left.

At least she knew where her daughter was.

Two mothers driving home to collect their daughters: one from a new boyfriend’s house and the other from the edge of the woods. No doubt our vivid maternal imaginations left us uncomfortable. I remained quiet.

Parents, as it turned out, were regularly dropping off and picking up their teens at The Woods. When I asked about this “trend,” the storyline went like this: If we drop our teens off at The Woods we know where they are; the town police know where they and at least they are not driving. Some of these parents also subjected their kids to breathalyzer tests and marijuana kits. What a twist on helicopter parenting.

What a confusing message.

The truth is that accidents and unintentional injuries are the primary cause of death among teenagers, with alcohol-related car crashes as the main culprit. It’s no wonder that the parents I know don’t want their kids driving after hanging out at The Woods. It is a wonder that parents are willing to drive their kids at all. Over a decade of neuroscience research confirms that substance use negatively affects the developing teen brain, including memory, decision making and self-control. Alcohol and drugs put vulnerable teens at risk for addiction.

Let’s imagine our teens in a small group of friends as we consider some numbers. The annual Youth Risk Behavior Survey (2013) found that among the high school students surveyed about underage drinking in the past 30 days:

35% (1 in 3) drank some amount of alcohol

21% (1 in 5) binge drank

22% (1 in 5) rode with a driver who had been drinking alcohol

10% (1 in 10) drove after drinking alcohol

If parents are chauffeuring their kids to the local drinking hole, the full awareness of substance use risks in teens just isn’t sticking. It’s not only about drunk driving. Driving kids to The Woods is a close cousin to hosting a teen party with alcohol. This is to say, it’s not a good idea. The Partnership for a Drug Free America states:

It’s NOT advisable to host teen parties where alcohol is available (and thus, condone underage drinking.) Also, contrary to popular belief, there is NO evidence that parents can “teach their children to drink responsibly.” Quite the opposite is true — the more exposure to drinking in adolescence and parental acceptance of substance use, the higher the risk of later problem with alcohol and other drugs.

My girls know that if they ever got caught going to The Woods that they would be grounded for at least a month, if not two. My girls lament, “Mom, don’t you trust us?” My answer: “I trust you wholeheartedly but I don’t trust teenagers in a crowd.” For many teens, the consequences of not fitting in has higher emotional stakes than breaking house rules. After all, parents are stuck with their teens, but friends can drop your teen in a split second.

My younger daughter, all but 14, went to The Woods, an annual tradition on the eve of high school. I found out two months later, of course, as the last to know. It was the final summer sleep over. I should have known. The host parent should have known. I was not pleased. It was not a great way to start 9th grade. She had to earn our trust back.

Nothing good happens in the woods.

A news story a number of years ago broke my heart. A high school girl had been partying with her friends after a homecoming game out at a marshy area. She drank too much. Her friends assumed that she had gone home early. But no. The girl froze to death where she fell.

The girl could have been anyone’s child.

Admittedly, it’s difficult to stop teens from experimenting. It’s almost impossible keep them from potentially being at the wrong place at the wrong time. As parents we can wish, hope and pray for our child’s safety. We can try to control their experiences, track them with GPS apps, and make them pee in a cup.

But there is another way. We can also be present with them in everyday ordinary moments. We can try out conversations no matter how awkward or serious — over and over again. Above all, we can be clear on our expectations, consistent in the implementation of consequences and loving in our acceptance of our children’s growing pains. Most certainly we can role model for them the very attitudes and behaviors we want to see in them.

Like Goldilocks, nothing is fitting just right for me. Or like silly Winnie the Pooh, I just feel like saying:

Oh bother.

It started with the bothersome news that Mattel and the Girls Scouts of the USA teamed up on a career Barbie doll promotion. Ostensibly, this deal was about an online Barbie game, showing all the wonderful and smart careers a girl could have while wearing mini-skirts and high heels. It seems like an uncomfortable arrangement. But $2M is $2M, and the GS needed it, no doubt. It’s a changing world and they need to stay relevant. I’m all for collaborations that makes sense, but this one just doesn’t feel right to me. And the “Do Anything, Be Anything” patch with the Barbie insignia for Daisies and Brownies? Mere 1st through 3rdgraders? That crossed the line for me. I’m siding with the folks who want GS to end their relationship with Mattel. The Girls Scouts could do so much better.

It doesn’t help that a small study was recently published suggesting that girls who are exposed to a Barbie doll – compared to girls exposed to a Mrs. Potato Head doll – may have limited views of potential careers for girls relative to careers for boys. Had the study been published earlier, maybe the GS would have thought twice about hopping into bed with Mattel. Goldilocks, I feel your pain.

Oh bother.

Then we have LeanIn.org’s #BanBossy campaign (also in partnership with the Girl Scouts, by the way). I have many friends and female entrepreneurs colleagues who love Sheryl Sandberg’s campaign. These are highly motivated women who persevere and demonstrate true grit in starting their own businesses. Empowered women are bossy. They have to be. They may have had their share of bossy (aka bitchy) comments over a lifetime. And yes, the word can be condescending, interfere with job promotions, and thwart fundraising. I get it. We’ve been told that a woman who is capable in her role is often perceived as being bossy, whereas her male counterpart is seen as an inspired leader. It’s also been reported that less than 5% of women entrepreneurs succeed in securing venture capital. This is part, because they go it alone and don’t bring along their football pals to fill the C-level positions. (I hear this on the street.) But let me tell you, smart and sweet doesn’t get women very far either. That might be interpreted as sassy. Shall we ban that word, too?

I work with girls and young women who could use a good dose of bossy. Be bossy! I want them to ignite their inner CEO, find meaningful work, and do what they stand for. My favorite commentary on the #BanBossy brouhaha is from Keli Goff at the Daily Beast. Her take is personal.

The bottom line is worrying about a word is a luxury that only kids who are already growing up with a host of advantages can afford. If Sandberg wants to make a real difference, she should put her money where her mouth is and come up with solutions that will insure more equality for girls who have more pressing concerns beyond banning bossy.

Right on. I was raised by a single mother and we had our share of struggles. #BanBossy just doesn’t resonate for me in the least (nor does “lean in.”) The whole campaign makes me feel like I’m supposed to “fit in” with the smart girls. It’s all rather cliquey. I guess I’m just not feelin’ it.

Oh bother.

But you can’t talk about #BanBossy without also talking about the Pantene ad that may have inspired Sandberg’s new initiative. A Pantene ad called “Labels Against Women” went viral in the Philippines last winter (video). It spotlights sexism in the workplace. When Sandberg caught wind of it and endorsed it, P&G, the parent company, quickly disseminated it in the US. LeanIn.org partnered with Pantene in the #BanBossy initiative. It’s all very cozy.

As it is, Pantene created a very compelling ad. The last I checked there were 46 million views on YouTube. Their hashtag, #ShineStrong, has a more hopeful and upbeat message than #BanBossy. I might even buy the product for my teen daughters when it goes on sale at the grocery store. (The whole end game for P&G.) My girls are killing their lovely long strands with flat irons as it is. But I’ll never be a Pantene loyalist, either.

Oh bother.

I ponder instead. Who seems to be getting it right?

I have The Representation Project to thank. They have an online campaign to raise awareness of sexism in the media. #NotBuyingIt encourages people to take action and engage in a public conversation. They also have #MediaWeLike to spotlight media that empowers women/girls and boys/men. At its core, this is excellent media literacy. After all, media as a communication channel is neither good nor bad. It just depends on how it is being used. So let’s use it for the greater good.

The greater good. What of late has inspired me in the arena of women’s empowerment? A guy named Nikolay Lamm, that’s who. Last year he created 3-D rendition of what a fashion doll (ok, Barbie) would like look like if she was based on an average 19-year-old woman. He asked: “What if fashion dolls were made using standard human body proportions?” The public loved it. Lamm recently went for crowd funding and raised almost a half a million dollars to manufacture the “Lammily” doll. His campaign title? Average is Beautiful. What’s not to love?

Rather than waiting for toy companies to change their designs, let’s change them ourselves by creating a fashion doll that promotes realistic beauty standards.

Product. Message. Movement. This guy gets it. I pre-ordered two dolls in honor of my daughters. Although they will be too old to play with a Lammily doll by the time it’s manufactured, the purchase is symbolic. Maybe the doll will go to college with them as a reminder from Mom that they are beautiful just they way they are.

Yes, the Lammily doll. Now here’s an initiative that the Girl Scouts of the US should just jump at even if it involves no funding. It’s a credibility issue. Plus, moms of up-and-coming Daisies, Brownies and Scouts will care. They all start selling cookies like mad. And a Lammily patch? Now that is something to consider.

I was a Girl Scout once. We made our own revolutionary outfits for the ’76 bicentennial parade in town, donning our green sashes covered with badges. It felt like something bigger than myself. Opportunity was in the air. I wish my girls had been Scouts. But Title IX came long and they are fiendish athletes now. I’m not totally happy about the exclusivity that sports play in their lives, but they get in their social action whenever possible. I try to reframe the non-GS track in this way: maybe my daughters will bring along their soccer pals when they pitch for venture funding in another 10 years. But even without handing down the baton of the GS experience to my girls, the organization is making some good choices.

The Girl Guides in the UK just teamed up with Dove’s Self Esteem Project*, which is part of DOVE/Unilever –another beauty brand. The initiative includes a body image curriculum for girls and a “Free Being Me” patch to promote body confidence. It’s starting up in the US, too, among the Girls Scouts, and I hope it will prove more successful and fitting than the Mattel partnership. (Lammily would make a great body confidence mascot by the way.)

I love these kinds of initiatives. It engages girls on a positive level, not a defensive one. It speaks to one’s best self. I can’t help to recall the Free to Be You and Me series with Marlo Thomas and Friends. Oh, how I looked up to Marlo. Her show and catchy tunes had timeless messages for all kids to behold. (This was a project with the Ms. Foundation for Womenback in the 1970s, equal rights and all.) The idea was that a girl or boy could be anything they want to be; that all humans are connected (depicted by the song, Sister and Brothers), and it is ok to feel things deep down. Remember Rosie Grier, the football player, singing “It’s Alright to Cry”? It seems so retro and radical. And essential.

Ok, I know this rant totally dates me. But it helps to have bit of a lifetime perspective given the bumbling Bs of recent months. Am I right?

Oh bother.

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*Disclosure. I am an expert global advisor to the Dove Self Esteem Project, which has a social mission to improve body confidence in girls. I provide expertise on evidence-based content and curriculum development to support educational initiatives on self-esteem and positive body image in girls. My participation on the Dove Self-Esteem Project advisory board is not an endorsement the DOVE products. The opinions stated on my blog/website are my own.